Alexithymia
by marylinn
Summary: Donatello develops an intense obsession with a beautiful girl named Evangeline Delaney, slowly causing the pieces of his psyche to fall apart. /2014 realm
1. Chapter One

**WARNING**

_I'll be taking concepts of the ninja turtles and spinning them with a dark realism and emotional depository, exploring the havoc feral instincts, isolation from humanity, and a warrior's drive can cause to a mutant's psych. so get ready for drama people._

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He sat on the shaded corner of an apartment building's rooftop, fingers gripping the edge as he leaned forward, carefully watching the movements of the girl who had continually haunted his thoughts and dreams, the girl that withdrew and awakened his most wicked desires and entrapped his mind and body in lust—the face of his affection, Evangeline Delaney.

He eagerly looked down to see her laughing at something her friend said, throwing her head back and exposing the porcelain expanse of her long neck.

Donatello had first seen her two weeks ago on his way back to the sewers. Surrounded by her friends, he had watched in astonishment as the girl bent to grab a lily from a flower cart, bringing it to her perfect nose to inhale its perfume. Her lashes were so long, they drooped when they fluttered and slowly, the girl lifting her gaze to the sky.

And Donatello felt like he'd been punched in the face.

Vast cerulean eyes wrapped around his heart, so achingly passionate and tender that he wanted to fall at her feet and weep. They overtook her face like a child's, but with the presence of a woman and the charm of something more still. In an instant he knew, without a doubt, that he could fall into those eyes and drown without regret because surely there was nothing more beautiful in the world.

She blinked slowly, freeing him from their bewitching spell and Donnie drew in the first breath of seconds or hours, he couldn't be sure.

Or maybe it was just the first breath of his life.

Dressed in only the cream cotton sundress that hit her mid-thigh, it revealed flawless ivory skin and the body of a dancer. She was on the tall side for a girl and the epitome of willowy, with fine collar bones, small breasts, narrow hips and limbs that that were long and lithe. Her hair had been brushed into a thick lustrous curtain of flaxen that hung in tussled waves down her back, clear down to the bottom of her ribs—it swayed, slow and sensual, behind her as she walked.

She haunted him.

He couldn't get her out of his mind no matter how hard he tried. His every thought continued to revolve around her perfection, constantly visualizing her movements: dainty hands splayed out at her sides, each thoughtful step made with a delicate point of her feet, flowing into the next—like water made flesh.

She _haunted_ him.

Taking a deep breath through his nose, he let it tumble past his lips, squeezing his eyes shut as he attempted to calm his mind. Donatello wanted to reach out to her so badly, to talk to her, to touch her skin and see if it felt as soft as it looked—but if his messed up life had taught him anything, it was patience.

"Donnie!"

The turtle jumped in surprise, turning to find his brother crouching behind him with a wide, mischievous smile on his face. "What are you looking at?" He whisper-yelled.

"N-Nothing," he stuttered, pushing Mikey back deeper into the shadows. "I was just—"

The orange masked turtle only snickered, swerving around his brother to whistle suggestively, "I bet it's the blonde, isn't it!" He leaned over the edge of the building, fanning himself and adjusting his shorts. "Dude, I totally call dibs!"

Donatello's eyes narrowed and his form stiffened. Swallowing a knot of fire, he pushed past his brother with jerking movements—putting everything he had into not lunging back and beating that smile along with some teeth down his throat. Donnie knew Mikey meant well and was ignorant to his desire for the girl, but his perverted smile and lingering eyes were causing a rage so vicious and scalding to grow inside him it actually made him afraid of what he might do.

He shook his head and cleared his throat, practically whispering, "Let's get back to the sewers, it's getting light out."

Mikey turned to him with a complaint but compiled, the both of them jumping down into the alleyway that lay between the apartment buildings and diving down into the darkness that was their home.

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Later that night, while light banter and conversation went on around him, Donnie listened and watched the world around him—like he always did. Leo helped Splinter ferry dishes to the other end of the table while Mikey pulled out a chair beside Raph, the both of them opening the boxes of pizzas and stacking their plates with the cheesy slices.

"So you shoulda' seen what Donnie was checking out this morning," Mikey snickered after taking a large bite, pulling the purple clad mutant's attention from where he was dishing out his own plate. "Her legs went on for _miles_."

Raph chuckled lowly, "Bet you wish you could find out where they ended, yeah?"

Donnie knew the red masked turtle could only live vicariously. His brother didn't need much (and boy did any of them ever get it) but he found he needed to borrow comfort and release every once in a while—two things that are impossible to come by when you're . . . well, a mutant turtle. They were all lost in the in-between stage: too human to be animal, yet too animal to be human.

Donnie took deep gulp of soda, his jaw clenching.

An eager eyed Mikey, who was still jerking off to dirty magazines, continued, "Oh yeah," He purred. "Bet he wishes he could end up balls-deep in that pretty pot o' gold," he whistled under his breath.

Donatello's eyes narrowed, his fists tightening as he listened to their playful leers. He was moments away from grabbing his plate and smashing it over the jokester's head—but thankfully, his oldest brother cut in.

"That's enough!" Leo snarled from beside him. "Master Splinter is in the room. Have some damn respect!"

Peeking up from the plate that he continued to pile up with food, Donnie's gray eyes flickered over to where Splinter had his head tipped back, eyes closed. In their own ways, they were all starving for validation from their adoptive father in a family where each of them felt like the black sheep misfits.

"Fuckin' brown-noser," Donatello heard Raphael hiss.

The room fell into silence, the only sounds being the shuffling of plates and food slipping down their throats into their hungry stomachs. Donnie ground his teeth together and he let his head flop forward. He wasn't usually so aggravated. His body was still pumped with adrenaline and testosterone and whatever other freaky hormone cocktail came with being a . . . whatever he was. He closed his eyes and took a breath through his nose and released it slowly. And then another.

The television blabbed from the living room over the tense silence between the unusual family and a song came on advertising how cool Chevy Sonic's were for the new generation.

A generation he knew nothing about.

"So anyways," Mikey began between loud smacking chews—presumably trying to break the quiet. "That girl was gorgeous and, no offence or anything, bro but_ so_ out of your league."

Blood pressure rising, Donnie ground his teeth together as he ferried another slice of pizza roughly onto his plate.

"But hey, maybe I should step up to bat though," Mikey snickered, still chomping away at his food. "She looks like she'd be good at sucking—"

It was the last straw.

Adrenaline instantly charged, hot, through Donnie's veins. His pulse going from zero to sixty faster than it took his brain to process.

"**_Damn it_**, Mikey!" He barked, slamming his fist on the table so hard dishes rattled.

The orange clad mutant's eyes widened and he stopped chewing, struggled to swallow his huge mouthful of cheese, pepperoni and bread.

Everyone went into silence.

The harsh sound of scraping wood sounded as Donatello pushed off the table, swiftly walking out of the kitchen and through the living room where the old CRT TV was babbling away to no one in particular. It looked like a whirlwind frat party had hit it, and hit it hard. Soda cans were strewn on the floor and table—the ground looking like Tohuko Japan after the wave, wrappers and pizza boxes, bottles of Mountain Dew on the rugs and cement.

"Whoa . . . he yelled." Mikey pointed out, "Donnie never yells."

Master Splinter silently watched his son storm out of the room, his eyes narrowing just slightly as he studied the jerky, angered movements of the brilliant turtle. He let out a deep sigh, subconsciously knowing at the back of his mind that things were about to change.

A lot.

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_This is my raw and darker spin on Donatello (and no, he's not going to be creepy) but, like I said above, this will be exploring what feral instincts and isolation from humanity can cause to a mutant's psyche. tell me what you think, review ;)_

_**/this story is also posted on another teenage mutant ninja turtles archive/**_


	2. Chapter Two

_donnie is going to seem a bit crazy in this chapter, but you have to understand—if you lived in a filthy sewer your whole life, knowing there was so much more out there in the world but unable to really grasp it because of what you are . . . I think at some point we have our breaking point. and in this chapter, donnie has reached his. _

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The city that evening was surprisingly quiet and calm for a Thursday. It was raining lightly, a faint, misty drizzle that hardly managed to pierce through the thick fog that clouded the city and enveloped the buildings around him in a tight blanket. The sky above was the color of mud, cloaking the city in a strange, chocolate-colored pall. Behind him, the evening sun was just beginning to disappear beneath the horizon, broken streams of sunlight filtering in between the swirling wreaths of fog and dust that hung suspended in the air.

Donnie pressed his feet against the edge of an apartment building, hurdling into the air onto the next rooftop, clenching his eyes into slits as a bitter wind whipped against his face—silently flying across the jungle of skyscrapers as he followed a yellow taxi.

It turned a corner and Donnie flipped, propelling himself higher with the help of his staff. His movements were swift and agile and, unlike his muscle bound brothers, his seven-foot build was leaner and more defined, like an elite martial artist rather than a guy who pumped iron.

He paused at the edge of a white brick building, habitually fixing his glasses while he watched the taxi stop.

Hopping out of the side door dressed in a pair leggings, a large sweater and leg-warmers was Evangeline—and Donnie's heart leaped up to his throat in excitement. He silently jumped over to the building she was entering and crawled down to one of the windows. From what he could see, some sort of stage production was about to take place and his eagerness grew, hoping it was Evangeline performing.

He waited patiently for the entry-room to clear out before climbing up to the roof again, easily kicking open the ridge door. Donnie knew that chances of getting caught were plausible but he couldn't find it in him to care, instead slinking down the steps toward the top of the stage where the rafters were. Hiding within the shadows, he watched a group of ballet dancers warm up on stage.

His eyes immediately fell on Evangeline, who was sitting at the far right by the curtains with her blonde hair pulled up in a tight bun—and his eye-lids sagging in admiration to see her elegantly spread out in a perfect split.

She smiled at something the girl beside her said and flowed forward, somehow graceful as she lifted herself from the difficult position, revealing the lissome curve of her back and hip. He was struck so violently with the need to run his palm over the gentle swell that his breath caught, the air in his lungs disappearing completely.

He watched for another hour as the ballet company prepared for their performance, his thoughts wandering.

During the day, he found himself fidgeting restlessly—a constant, cold sheen of sweat always seeming to coat his skin. He watched Evangeline as often as he could, shamelessly savoring her smiles and the way her nose would crinkle when she was amused.

He couldn't eat. He drank water, even downed a whole carton of orange juice (and later puked it up when the acid was too much for his empty stomach to handle) and also managed a few sports drinks, though they did little to boost his energy.

Each day felt like an eternity, every hour seemed to drag on longer than the next. He didn't know what to do with himself. His bedroom was a wreck. Cups had begun to pile up in the corner, his bed was never made, his laundry was strewn about the floor as if they had been caught in a nasty windstorm, and he was hardly able to find the energy to do anything. It was pointless. He found no reason to live—he had no future ahead of him. He would never be able to go to college or get married or have children. And these dark thoughts continually drifted though his head, driving him straight toward his breaking point.

He tried to occupy his mind with other things—he thought working on different inventions, or perhaps listening to music would soothe him—but the only thing he wanted to do lately was spar and watch Evangeline. Fighting was slowly becoming a chronic and debilitating addiction. It helped get his mind off of _her_, let him think and calculate and relax—shutting off all his dejected thoughts and replacing them hot, pulsing adrenaline that slunk through his veins and brought him back to _life_ again.

Nobody understood.

Except for Raphael.

The older turtle allowed him to train with him—to let out his anger and pain with through vicious brawling that usually ended with one of them half-dead on the training room's floor. As sick as it was, Raph was the only one who really understood that rancorous hunger for adrenaline. Training with him was closest he ever got to a heart-to-heart. Even with Leo and Mikey, who were usually the ones he was able to talk to, would never truly be able to understand what he was going through. Not even Raph really.

_No one _understood.

The sound of orchestra music cut off Donnie's thoughts and he shifted to watch the performance, his heart jumping at the sight of Evangeline dancing toward back of the group, her body moving like it was underwater—slow, sensual and nimble. Her eyes were closed as she twirled toward the very front of the dancers and her body bent back, hands clutching her chest as tears gathered around her eyes. Her solo was breathtaking and emotional and Donnie found himself drowning in a need so strong that his entire body shook, hands twitching, moments away from revealing himself and taking her for his own . . .

He threw himself from the rafters.

Running.

Sprinting.

Jumping out of the building into the night's fog that was cold and heavier than usual and it enveloped the city and hung over Donnie in a thick blanket of mist. The frosty, fall night air whipped at the purple clad turtle's skin, the buildings stone roofs breaking under his furious feet.

Donnie crashed to his knees. His body was vibrating with each beat of his jackhammer heart, his breath shredding savagely through clenched teeth as he doubled over and slammed both fists against the sides of his head. This, even _this_ was twisted into something animalistic. Evangeline was the only thing that kept him alive. She was beautiful and feminine and gentle.

But now? His affection for her was now scorched by prurient lust—imperious, voracious and _insatiable._

He wanted nothing but to wrap her sweet, tiny frame into his iron clad grip and greedily ram himself home. Over and over, deep and hard, into the ripe silk of her body, devouring the nectar of her lips and consuming her twilight groans.

Disgusted, Donnie's eyes squeezed shut.

He didn't understand why he'd ever wasted a millisecond pretending. He knew she would never want him—to shackle herself to _him_ . . . a mutant . . . a _monster_. . .

But oh, how he _craved._

.

_the next day_

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Donnie took a mechanical shower, washing enough filth from his body that the water ran down the drain. He couldn't even contemplate how dirty he was or the bruises face and sunken eyes in the mirror or the heavy sluggishness of his limbs . . . because he was in too much pain. His spar with Raph had been extra brutal today—neither of them were playing around.

It was all instinct, no holding back.

And while Raphael beat the shit out of him—he was able to _forget._

Inside he was falling apart, all the little pieces being pulverized further with each heartbeat, but his body was steadily going through the motions of life. It was an odd sensation—kind of like trundling downhill in a deep rut in the road. That's the way it was these days: you could bank left or right with a little strain but as long as you let yourself roll down the middle it was effortless. To jump the track completely was nearly impossible.

Donnie didn't have the strength to even try.

Why bother anyway? He knew the score by now.

By the time he'd dressed in his shorts and gadgets he was worn out, body, mind and soul. He shuffled toward the kitchen where Leo was pacing a brusque agitated circuit in front of the counter.

The blue-eyed turtle didn't even look up. "Eat," he murmured, as he continued wearing a hole in the floor. The table had been eerily abandoned in the middle of lunch—plates half-eaten, drinks full. It looked like an alien abduction.

Donnie obediently sat in his usual chair where a plate stared blankly up at him and reached for the—

His hand froze in the middle of picking up the platter of sliced roast as his mind flashed back to last night. His stomach was eating itself alive and it smelled so good, but the thought of eating the succulent meat disgusted him right now. He didn't deserve it. He reached for the potatoes instead and listlessly served his plate. Next he picked up a casserole—

Leonardo stalked up behind him and abruptly yanked the dish from his hand with a grunt. Picking up Donnie's plate, he started liberally piling on slices of roast then paced down the table and shoveled on turkey and ham.

"You need protein," he growled as he deposited it unceremoniously in front of him. "_Eat_."

Donnie dug in unenthusiastically. And he hated that at the first bite past his lips, instinct and hunger overtook him and he was stuffing food in his face before he'd even swallowed the last mouthful. He inhaled his plate and then was piling on more. By his third, he finally noticed that Leo was leaning against the wall across the table, tipping up a bottle of Mountain Dew while he watched him with his intense icy eyes.

He lowered the bottle and swallowed. "You weren't in your room last night," he pronounced evenly.

Donnie's fork stopped midway to his mouth.

"Where'd you go?" Leo asked, idly dangling the bottle between two fingers.

Donnie didn't know what to say, so he shoved his forkful in his mouth and chewed. He didn't understand it either—sure, he'd tired himself out with all the running last night and the spar from this morning, but it shouldn't have taken this much of a toll it did on mutant stamina. It felt like his entire body was shutting down.

With a harsh sniff, Leo hiked his bottle into his palm and studied the label for a moment. "You should leave her alone," he murmured.

Donatello froze mid-chew.

Leonardo looked up from under his mask. "We aren't like them, Donnie. I don't think I have to remind you that the odds of us meeting a human who will accept us is extremely high." He told him quietly. "The chance to experience romance or sex . . . or to just _talk_ to a girl . . ."

Donnie squeezed his eyes shut.

"I just don't want you getting hurt over some girl you don't have a chance with, Don. We weren't created to have romances with—"

"Then what were we created to do?" Donnie interrupted.

"To fight. To help this city."

The corner of his lip lifted wryly and he stood, moving toward the old refrigerator at the corner of the room and pulling it open. "Which we can't even do that without being sent to the _hatchi__,_" he bit out tartly, leaning down and looking for something to drink.

"You know what Master Splinter says," Leo murmured in a voice that sounded like velvet over steel. "We aren't ready yet."

Donnie squeezed his eyes shut in chagrin from behind the screen of the refrigerator door. He was being an impertinent ass, and he knew it. His relationship with his brother had always been respectful and good . . . up until a three weeks ago, but it was just so hard not to blame him now.

He didn't understand.

Donnie huffed out a long breath and grabbed a carton of milk, straightening and throwing the door closed with a _thunk_. "I'm sorry," he mumbled as he fixed his glasses.

Leo cocked his head and his gaze narrowed, flitting briefly over Donatello's taller form. The purple clad turtle silently stared him down in an outright dare to press for more. He drew in a slow breath and tipped his head the other way, crossing his arms. "'You thinking of training later tonight?" Leonardo's voice was fraudulently calm. Testing. And his words cut clear on down to the quick.

Donnie resisted the urge to glare at him. Popping the milk carton open, he downed a half-gallon down his throat. Somewhere in the middle of the draught, his body's hunger reared its head and then he was gulping, dribbles of milk running in rivulets down his face onto his chest.

Leo chuckled lightly. "You should pour that thing in a glass, instead of drinking it like some kind of . . ."

"_ANIMAL?_" Donnie roared, slamming down the carton so brusquely on the counter that the contents were jettisoned in a milky spray across the floor.

Leo's eyes momentarily widened and he stood up a little straighter.

Donatello began to pace the room as his hands clutching at his scalp with painful intensity. He wanted to draw blood. He wanted to bleed from his scalp until he could bleed no more. He wanted to explode into a million tiny pieces and never be put back together again. Something between a sob and a groan crawled from his throat and he collapsed to his knees.

"Donnie?"

He felt drowned by the toxicity of his brother's words, overwhelmed by the truthfulness of them. His conscience slowly becoming a wraith he couldn't escape, a monster that haunted him at every corner he turned and every door he opened. Mentally, he was barely hanging on to that last thread of sanity, and the more days that past, the thinner that thread seemed to grow. He couldn't take it anymore. He couldn't stay crapped in this filthy sewer any longer. He needed to get _out._

_He needed Evangeline._

"Donnie!" Leo yelled, shaking his brother as unease dripped into his stomach. The brilliant and usually calm turtle looked crazed—hitting himself and clawing at his face. Leonardo could feel him trembling under his grip.

"Mikey, Raph! Master Splinter!"

Donnie was oblivious to it all. He cried out into the air as blunt nails dug into his skull. He had to make it stop. He had to think about something else. However, when he closed his eyes, blue coated the back of his lids. It was all he could see. Crystal clear, gentle blue-eyes. Everything was covered in it, everything was _blue._

He cried, then, tears stumbling over his cheeks as he sobbed open-mouthed onto his hands. It hurt to think. His head pounded like a thousand drums, a grisly chorus of excruciating sound.

He needed her.

He needed to get _out._

His tears began to lessen and Donnie slowly, gratefully slipped into unconsciousness.

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_sorry if this is a bit occ, donnie will become more donnie-y a little later in the book, don't worry. ;)_

**_R&R_**


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